


Embers

by Confuzledsheep



Series: Scorched [2]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking, Hangover, Heart-to-Heart, I wrote an ENTIRE CREATION MYTH FOR THIS FIC, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Introspection, Local bard keeps idiot god alive, M/M, Magic eyeballs, References to Depression, Reunions, Vomiting, Weird comparisons to semen, Whole new tone in this one lmao, sad masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-03 07:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16322021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Confuzledsheep/pseuds/Confuzledsheep
Summary: He would have been content to just die there in the snow, but fate had other, shittier plans for him.





	1. Slopes

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the continuation... I swear it gets more exciting later on!!

It was cold.

His clothes were soaking, breath puffing from his lips, forming wispy clouds that almost perfectly matched the great billowing masses over his head. 

The snow melted around his back from the lingering heat of his body. His free-fall had landed him on an island.

A very, very cold one.

Snow brushed his cheek as it fell onto the ground, the light layer of powder just starting to cover the frosted earth.

He was tired. So, so tired.

The fall had loosened his muscles, wind pounding against his back as he fell, and so he lay limp against the snow.

The idea of seeing Shiva scared him. He did not want to be followed. He never wanted to see the sky again, or the palace or Freyr or the edge of the sky or the battlefield.

He would have been content to just die there in the snow, but fate had other, shittier plans for him.

A large black nose and a pink tongue filled his vision.

Before he could stop it, he felt the tongue lick a long stripe up his face, hot breath ruffling his hair.

He scrambled against the snow, trying to sit up. “What in the name of the creator!?”

There were some huffing noises, crunching in the snow. The tongue pulled away, Grimnir slowly peeling his eyes open.

Goats. He was surrounded by maybe three dozen mountain goats. Their fur was long and shaggy, a few younger ones still part way through their shed. The beasts looked like part of the land, snowdrifts who grew legs, horns, and little black noses.

“What do you want?”

The individual closest to him, the one who licked him, snorted, ears flicking.

“Well that’s thoroughly unhelpful.”

A small one butted against his back, pushing him upwards. It’s small horns dug into his shoulders, and he almost smacked it away on impulse.

Almost. Almost.

He couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t take his anger out on some poor creature that had nothing to do with Grimnir’s current predicament. 

Wet hot breath brushed his cheek yet again. Another lick. A few others stepped closer, nudging his arms, legs, torso. More warm breaths, more licks.

He would be lying if he said the gestures didn’t get to him. He knew that the creatures were likely only trying to absorb the excess salt from his body, but he could easily convince himself that they actually cared.

The mass of wool and hooves and snow almost engulfed him, and would have been perfectly happy with that punishment- but even as the tears rolled down his cheeks, he knew it wouldn’t last. 

They would move on, like everyone else. They didn’t owe him a damn thing, and he didn’t owe them in return.

Then they did. He couldn’t see the sunset, but the sky darkened, a signal that night was upon them. A low tone resounded through the valley, and the goats turned to face the sound.

They started to move. Single file, down the slope, forming a mountain range of their own.

His clothes were frozen to his body, and frostbite would have set in if he was a normal creature, but that didn’t happen.

Warm noses nudged his back, pushing him up, steering him down the slope. Two goats, the one who licked him and what must be it’s kid.

“What are you up too?”

There was naturally no answer, just a mass of white wool pushing him downwards, steering him towards a mass of tall dark trees.

It was a home. Ice clung to the sides of the building, seeping deep into the dark wood. 

There was a cross in the yard, dark wood nailed together with rusty red pins, frozen earth slightly raised.

He didn’t want to take someone’s home.

But he was pushed forward, goats bleating, knocking their heads against the door, eager to see what was inside.

The rusty hinges seemed seconds way from falling off as Grimnir opened the heavy door. It wasn’t locked.

Everything was frozen. There seemed to be no shelter from the cold this far up.

Pots and pans stacked on a small counter, clothes folded on the bed or hung from pegs on the wall, a fireplace long cold, with wood still stacked nearby, just in case.

The straw bed was free of mold, everything very clean for a house long uninhabited.

The goats made themselves right at home, standing on the bed and the table, hooves clacking on the wood and crunching the straw.

“Truly strange creatures…”

***

“He should be in his room-“

“Like some sort of caged beast?!”

Shiva didn’t look away from Freyr, didn’t break eye contact. “There are valid reasons behind his situation-“

“That we don’t have time for. Let’s go see him.” Europa was apparently quite sick of this shit, standing up and reaching over to Shiva, requesting him to stand.

He did so obediently, leading the group out of the study and into the hallway. He could feel Freyr’s gaze on his back as he unlocked the door, pushing them open-

Into an empty room.

A cool breeze brushed past him.

Carefully, he stepped forward. The bed was a mess, blankets and clothes strewn about. The curtains ruffled in the wind. Shiva stepped forward, walking towards the broken window. 

Glass balanced on leaves and flowers like dewdrops, the shattered fragments forming a perfect arc on the cobblestone.

The book at the epicenter of it all was torn and shredded.

“Did he-“

Freyr shut up. Likely at the not so gentle encouragement of Europa.

It was as though the world had collapsed around him. His stomach fell through his chest, heart crumpling like paper in his fist.

He was gone. Grimnir was _gone._

He finally couldn’t take it, off to do gods know what- throw himself into spears, sell himself off, play with the hearts of mortals to help him destroy himself quicker-

“Shiva.”

A cool, commanding tone, a hand on his shoulder. Much smaller, much shorter than Grimnir’s. Alexiel’s.

“He will likely be fine. We can regroup later.”

With that, the hand disappeared. Europa hurried Freyr off, Alexiel certainly following close behind, trying to avoid a fight breaking out between the two men.

He had to restrain himself, steering himself away from the garden, back inside. The bedroom called to him, some gravity dragging him back to the untampered mess.

White scales almost vanished in the sheets, small movements and steady breaths the only signs of life. 

Vasuki went undisturbed. Shiva couldn’t bear it, turning and marching back to the room he now called his own.

***

There was no way he would ever have a moment of peace down here.

All he wanted to do was sleep, having changed clothes and melted down snow to wash himself off.

The Goats had other plans.

He had named the small one Skoll, and the adult Hati. Hati had decided that the straw bed was her new perch, and also an excellent food source. Skoll just wanted attention, constantly jumping into his lap, head butting him while he was trying to read the surprising number of books he had found in the home.

There were records of farms and yields, a large pile of diaries he didn’t want to look through, books of medicine, and dozens of volumes of stories. There were maps of the land, compendiums of history Grimnir had never seen before, of such volume and style so unique to the region. 

Mountains full of riches and monsters, cliffs bested by storms and ice, chasms that would swallow men whole.

He had stumbled into quite the interesting land.

Quite the interesting land indeed.

***

He couldn’t allow himself to lose control. Not now. Such behaviours were inappropriate outside of the battlefield.

Shiva could not allow himself to destroy as much as he wanted. He would have taken the world at this point.

He would take it now- crush the earth and let fire rain from the skies- he would do it if he could, but what would Grimnir do? How would he react to seeing Shiva in such a light?

Grimnir was obviously terrified of Shiva- if he wasn’t before he certainly was now- and he had every right to be.

Shiva would do horrifying things if Grimnir asked.

The world would be little more than putty in his hands if Grimnir so desired. He would destroy universes if he so suggested it.

That was why Lady Michael wished to speak to him. Not only because she was proud of his emotional discovery, but to warn him. To set her conditions should he become a liability.

Fear struck through him like a spear. He was beginning to become that liability. It was not Grimnir’s fault- no, not his in the slightest. 

This was his own doing. An unraveling of his own composure that he needed to fix.

_Was I trying to fix Grimnir, or was I trying to fix myself?_

Disgusting suggestions pulled at his mind- maybe he was not to blame for this. Was Grimnir sincere in his feelings? Was the shared vulnerability just a ruse? A lie? Something to distract Shiva from the truth?

A tool to then use against himself? 

Or worse, was the intimacy something of Shiva's creation? Did Grimnir comply to confirm his own safety? How much was his fault? How much was true? Did they ever share feelings?

Would Shiva be selfish to pursue Grimnir into the human realm? Was he obsessive to worry about his health?

Was it selfish to want to see him happy?


	2. The Minstrel

“Well. You are not Mr. Longpine.”

Grimnir blinked at the man at the door. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting any visitors, let alone ones with multiple musical instruments strapped to their body.

“I am not Mr. Longpine.”

“Are you new in town?”

“I am indeed.”

The chattering of birds in the snow and rustle of trees in the wind punctuated the silence.

“I’m Elta. Nice to meet you.”

***

“Love makes living things quite dumb. You and I are no exception”

Michael looked like a sunset. Regal, with a sophistication Shiva could never hope to even brush against in his immortal life.

“You are worse for wear, may I ask what has transpired?”

She was not lying in the slightest, but whatever remained of his pride still reeled.

“Grimnir has cast himself to the mortal realm.”

Very few things could bring Michael to confusion, and this fact appeared to be one of them.

“Is Raphael aware-”

“I am unsure. No one witnessed it, but I am certain that he did so.”

She set her jaw. This was not unprecedented, but still surprising. 

“Are you-“

“I am fine.”

The snap of his reply surprised her, but his words were blatantly a lie. She could see something was clawing at him, but she was not the kind of woman to know exactly what.

He was not the kind of man who would show it.

“...I think we should leave him be. He has yet to become a significant risk. If he does, we will take care of him. Raphael and I.”

_You are too weak. To soft. You are already in his trap, and unfit to help him._

Shoving the ugly words aside, he bowed his head to her. “Thank you.”

He felt her eyes on his back as he stood and turned, keeping his eyes trained on the golden gates at the edge of her realm.

The clouds beneath his feet should have broken apart, sent him tumbling down to the islands. But they did not. Not even as he tried to hide how he stormed away from her, into the vastness of the sky.

***

Elta was an interesting man. The minstrel of the village, he had been traveling before hearing of the previous minstrel’s death- the man named Clark Longpine.

He was a man most closely versed in the musical arts, dabbling in other fields as well. Grimnir noted that his true strength lay in the spectacular memory the man possessed. He knew every single story of the town. Every historical fact one could ever ask about. 

He was quite a good teacher, filling Grimnir in with the details. Over food, of course. Grimnir did feel guilty about accidentally stealing the man’s residence, but he insisted that he would simply move back into his childhood home.

“Are you a skyfarer?”

Grimnir blinked, looking at his feet. “No.”

The man shut up. There were no judgemental looks, no assumptions. The two of them just. Existed. In that moment, in that space. It was… peaceful.

“May I ask your name?”

_Shit, I didn’t think this far-_ “Valtyr.”

“As stated earlier, I am Elta. A pleasure.”

Grimnir hardly registered the hand in front of him. Hesitantly, he took the hand, imitating a greeting.

“Where am I.”

Elta kept shuffling around the small cabin, preparing a meal and a better place for Grimnir to sleep. Grimnir never asked for such hospitality. “We’re a few thousand leagues away from North Vast. This island is called Frigg, and you are now just outside the village of Sigil.”

Grimnir took the bowl of warm soup that was offered to him. It smelled like dairy and potatoes. The consistency was confusing, and made him immediately associate it with a body fluid he wasn’t keen on thinking about. 

“I’m sorry if it’s bland, all of the good food is being saved for the depths of winter.”

Grimnir was absolutely not going to complain.

Sure, it looked a bit like semen and he _really_ didn’t want to associate that with heat because that’s what made him think of Shiva and _heavens above will you **stop** being a whore for maybe an hour?!_

Before Elta even had the chance to see if Grimnir liked it, an empty bowl clattered to the table.

“...Thank you.”

Elta looked up at him. “You’re welcome.”

Silence settled over them. Grimnir could feel the questions bubbling up underneath his skin.

“Why.”

“Why what?”

“Why did you help me?”

“Because I wanted too.”

Something in the way Elta said it, something in the way he briefly looked up at Grimnir before returning to his food, something about his demeanor told Grimnir this wasn’t his first encounter with a primal. This wasn’t his first time seeing his hospitality be possibly wasted away.

“Please. Allow me to return the favor.”

Elta sighed, finishing his bowl. “You are open to take seconds. This is not really my home, but I doubt anyone would have qualms about you staying as long as you would like.”

“I cannot just do nothing in exchange for full accommodations-“

“I can find you a task eventually. For now, I will return to my own home. Please take good care of this place.”

Grimnir watched as Elta calmly collected his things and left, carefully closing the door behind him.

Hati and Skoll were out in the yard. Grimnir didn’t expect them to stick around, frankly. He had practically no food, and had given up the straw bed in order to keep them fed.

The fire was crackling and hissing. Elta made a comment about the dry wood outside the back door. Grimnir, being exceptionally stupid, decided to try and start a flame using some of the fallen branches outside the house.

He was going to die down here.

Not that he minded, mooching off of humans was a far greater crime than ignorance.

Would he be buried like a man? A second cross in the yard, next to the grave of Mr. Longpine?

How long would it take him to starve to death? He could survive on sticks for at least two years. 

Would he even be buried? Or would poor Elta just find him frozen on the floor of the cabin and leave him to rot?

The books were scattered around him. It was still too early in the day too sleep, and he hardly had anything else to do, the ice and snow starting to pile up around the house.

Slowly, as if his bones were as frozen as the earth, he reached out and grabbed a book.

_Commended history of Sigil - penned by Sir Clark Longpine_

***

“Why he would voluntarily do such a thing is astonishing!” Europa huffed, shoes clacking against the marble floors of Shiva’s study.

“Grimnir _is_ an anomaly kitten…”

“No nicknames right now! This is somewhat serious Alexiel!”

The woman looked up from polishing her sword, sprawled out on an armchair. “Ropa, I think he will be fine. We all know the sky’s not gonna fall down while he’s gone.”

Europa paused. They never talked about that fact. Raphael had mentioned it at a gathering many millennia ago- after Grimnir had been removed from the dinner table.

The Sky didn’t need him. It never needed him. No one ever explained to the three of them what his purpose was- why he was sent to the corner of the skies, why he was even created, what his abilities were, who he really was- because he was absolutely not in charge of the winds.

Sure, he could control them- they were of his element, after all- but he was not the primal of winds. Tiamat was. Zephyrus was that of the summer breeze, Nezah was an anomaly. 

Grimnir was practically nothing. He hardly even controlled storms. Raphael himself hardly had a job for him- no one did.

That’s why they shoved him into the corner of the skies to rot in isolation.

“It may not, but why _mortals?”_

“Europa, do you want him to keep destroying himself!?”

She frowned, stopping her pacing. 

“Be both know this is the lesser of two evils.”

“Yes but what about Shiva-“

“What would Shiva do if he was _dead.”_

She set her jaw, glowering at her partner. Alexiel was right, even though she did not wish to admit it.

This was truly the lesser of two evils.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment, Kudo, whatever it is y'all want to do!
> 
> I have a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ConfuzzledSheep?lang=en) where you can follow me or yell at me!
> 
> See y'all next chapter!


	3. Studies of the Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of Desire and Monsters

All the humans lived off of their herds here, save for a select few. Those who did not were individuals of economic importance, or rarely, in Elta's case, of Social importance.

The bleak landscape shaped them, moulded their society and culture in its image. But yet, it was not a complete copy.

Yes, the food was just as bland as one would expect -there was no way any substance bearing large amounts of flavour would live in such horrid climates- but the way the people behaved seemed completely unaffected by the terrible weather.

It was as though the blizzards did not affect them. They were simply passing obstacles, like a small rainstorm. The poor weather didn't seem to get them down, and when it grew ever so close to doing so, they celebrated.

Grimnir had yet to witness it, but he had heard from Elta that the village hosted a massive party on the longest day of winter.

That was such an absurd thing. Celebrating the darkest, stormiest, and often coldest day of the year? Why would one do that? What would make humans want to do that?

Pure, unashamed hubris.

He loved that tenacity, that pride. He had once hosted that pride- he embodied it, it was who he was- unrelenting winds that had no care for the petty movements of the seasons or gods. 

Some aspect of that persistence called to him- spoke to some empty hole inside of him that had long been unfilled.

That’s what he used to be. Sturdy. Reliable. Unrelenting in carrying out an unforgiving and irrelevant task.

He could still see the stars up here. The snow had kept falling, and he began to use the windows as a means of escape, a ladder leading to the highest window much more sensible now.

The snow was always so cold against his back when he lay down upon the roof, staring up at the sky. Often he would fall asleep in its frigid embrace, a far cry from the the warm one he left behind.

He missed Shiva, and he hated it.

It had been a long time since he had slept on the wooden slat he called a bed. He needed to figure out how to chop firewood. Elta said fallen trees are the best, and dry material is crucial.

Tears froze to his face. He could hear the soft snores and bleats of the goats by the fireplace.

The fire had long died, Grimnir’s poor planning being to blame.

He was always the one to blame.

The cold bit at him through the wool blankets, winds cutting through the house. He missed Shiva. So, so badly.

He couldn't return, he knew that, that would completely defeat the purpose of what he had just done, and he didn't want to do that at all- he wanted to stay here because even though it was cold and hard he loved it- but he still loved Shiva too.

He could feel it. A heat in his Loins. (A funny human word he picked up from the books he had read. It was dumb at first, but he had taken a liking to it.)

He didn't want to think about Shiva next to him, how warm he was and the security of his arms wrapped around his body. There was a care involved, the way he would gaze at him when he thought Grimnir wasn't looking, the way his eyes shifted ever so slightly when he was around.

Hands running down his body in the baths, in the study, in the bedroom. Shiva trying to assure Grimnir of his presence, and possibly even his love at every opportunity. 

The romance of lips brushing against each other, brushing against skin. Shiva's gentle breaths and sweet words- far sweeter than anything Grimnir had yet to eat, both in the heavens and in the mortal realm.

Heat gathered in his stomach, seeping down his legs and focusing in his core. He didn't want to look underneath his loose pants. He hated the look of the damned organ. The pink always so bright and disgusting, the wetness a sign of emotional weakness, the long, thin cock looking more like a sentient intestine than anything else.

Why Shiva would waste his time or even bother to praise such filthy aspects of Grimnir's physique confused him greatly. Why would such disgusting, traitorous things be seen as attractive in any sense of the word? 

And not even just his disgusting sex organs, but the rest of him too? How could Shiva gaze at Grimnir for so long with such a content look on his face?

How could he call him ‘Beautiful’?

He could feel the wetness between his legs, the tip of his cock beginning to naturally push out of its sheath. The leather covering over his eye was being pushed around and out of the way, the eyelid gently blinking away-

_“Shit!”_

Pink started to fade into his vision, and he smacked a hand over his eye, trying to prevent it from seeing into the other realms, to no avail.

He hated his right eye- the color disgusted him, made him think of disembowelment and peeled flesh- and the purpose it served just made him hate it more. He did not need to see into other realms anymore- there was no vast expanse of space for him to look out for, no massive hunks of metal and ice for him to slay.

The only thing it could possibly be looking for was Shiva- and he didn't want to go there. He didn't want to even consider such a thing. It repulsed him. He couldn't return to that trap, seeing Shiva now would only make him desire to return with a passion even more aggressive, and that would make him look even more foolish than he already did.

But it was unstoppable, and the pink flooded his vision, slowly fizzling out, showing Grimnir a scene from what felt like worlds away.

Shiva was ripping through the golden gates, intricate carvings and metalwork crushed in his hand so easily, torn like paper.

He released a silent cry, teeth and tongue straining against jaw and muscle. The muscles of his back nearly tore through the fabric. 

Palpable fury traveled through the vast distances of space between them, and Grimnir felt a mighty need seize him. Shiva’s desperation did things to him he did not wish to name.

Slick was likely gushing from between his legs, and his heart was gripped with an equal mix of fear and lust. He was _turned on_ by this display of love and fury.

Rubbing his thighs together didn’t help a thing, and he could feel the leather slipping from his face.

Watching, breathless, he froze in place, observing, as Shiva calmed, muscles no longer threatening to rip seams and silk. 

He turned towards Grimnir’s fixed viewpoint. Something was clawing at his face, his expression- ripping away the serious and stoic expression he often, if not always, bore.

Tears were dripping down his face, and Grimnir had never before wished for death so strongly.

His disappearance _hurt_ Shiva. Whether it was the loss of pride from a failed capture, or an actual cry of the heart.

Shiva was crying with an expression of such _unbelievable anguish._ Grimnir never knew he would _cry_ over him, let alone with such passion, such genuine pain.

A black-clad arm brushed the tears from his face, another pushing his hair back and adjusting the cover on his third eye. After he had properly composed himself, he marched towards the doors leading to the hall, leaving Grimnir’s sight.

Pink filled his sight once again and he wanted to rip his own eyes out if it dared show him something else. The color faded to black and then quickly cleared. He had never been so thankful to look at dark, splintered walls.

His body was still feverish, likely completely erect, thighs wet and sticky.

Guilt flooded him, made his blood simmer and curdle. He should not be pleasuring himself after such an event- how could he insult Shiva in that way?

Maybe if he ignored it, it would disappear. The guilt and the overwhelming emotions.

The dehydrated and pitched wood taunted him. If he blinked fast enough it gained a shimmer that made it almost mimic Shiva’s armor. 

Perhaps he should carve some of it. The place was dreadfully boring for a home supposedly belonging to a storyteller.

***

“They say there’s a beast in the woods.”

Elta looked up at him. “Which one?”

“The books say it has horns, and walks like a man. Eyes like coal, muzzle like an elk.” Grimnir had practically every recorded story memorized by that point. It had been a moon cycle since he arrived. Maybe one and a half. The books were the only thing to tide over his boredom when he was not struggling to cook or clean or chop wood.

The man tuned his cello, Fire crackling in the stone fireplace. Elta’s home was finely decorated and put together. The firelight rippled off of the light wood walls, tapestries and painted horns and boards hung from the rafters and leaned on ledges. Furs and rugs and blankets stacked high on chairs and benches.

It was comforting, warm. Better than the odd dark wood of Grimnir’s home.

“Hm. That one.”

“Have you seen it?”

Elta was quiet, back turned to Grimnir. His nimble fingers wound and unwound gut strings and tuning wax.

“I have.”

“When?”

Another silence. The fire snapped and cracked.

“A few different times. Once, when I was but a child, a handful when I was a young man, and an encounter just a few weeks ago.”

“What was it like? To see a real monster?”

A sigh. Elta’s shoulders lowered as he placed the musical tools in front of him.

“I believe there are no such things as true, heartless monsters.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“... Was it imposing? Scary?” _Did it make you afraid? Did you fear your own actions? Did it lead you to destroy yourself?_

“...When I was a child it was certainly frightening.” Something made his voice waver. However, he continued. “It was an imposing thing, no doubt. As tall as a house. It’s antlers could possibly reach the top of a chimney. It does not live amongst the rocks. It lives among the trees, between Sigil and the valley.”

“The stories said it stood out against the snow.”

“Because it is the color of pale leather. It’s fur grows thick and wild, hooves wide and black, but it was not meant for the northern cliffs.”

“Do you think it is a primal?”

“Possibly.”

What sort of primal could possibly live around here? What would it do? What would it protect?

Why had the villagers called it a monster for so long?

“Are there other monsters? Unrecorded ones?”

Elta continued to gaze at the fire, thoughts enraptured in the hungry maw of the past. “Many. A vast many that not even I would be able to tell you about.”

“Where would they be?”

“I am not a god Grimnir.”

“Well obviously, you are a man-“ _Wait. I never told him that I’m-_

“I could tell. That you were a primal.”

Grimnir sat up on the plush bench. “Wa-was it the eye?!”

“I have met more primals in my life than any human ever should, in my opinion.”

A thick venom dripped from his words. No, not a venom. A regretfulness. He did not want to think about primals. Not anymore.

Grimnir fell silent, pulling a fur over his lap.

“I have some old drawings of the beast.”

“I did not know you were an illustrator.”

Elta stood, moving to a bookshelf, flipping through the massive volumes and hand bound journals. “I am not, I assure you. These were from when I was a young boy- I have yet to attempt capturing its likeness again.”

“Perhaps you should try again.”

“Perhaps I should,” Elta echoed. He had found the small journal, full of crumpled pages, a few small parchment slips stuffed between pages, threatening to escape and float into the fire. 

Grimnir carefully took the journal from his hands, open to the page in question.

“...Curious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, Kudo, whatever you feel like!
> 
> I have a twitter [@ConfuzzledSheep](https://twitter.com/ConfuzzledSheep?lang=en) If you want to yell at me there!!


	4. Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes. You can never know what the people who loved you the most can do to your own creations.” Elta’s tone was dark and contemplative. Something had happened to him, Grimnir could practically _smell_ it.

Regardless of the weather or all the curious habits of the towns people, he enjoyed this place.

He had been introduced to a few townspeople of importance, the Chief and his wife, the ‘head’ (only) merchant, and some of the older folk. They were all very amicable people- Perhaps unreasonably welcoming of a stranger like himself, but still very kind people.

But seeing the entire village was something different- he had never known how _small_ juveniles were, or children for that matter. Infants were small, as expected, but were actually quite large compared to the relative size of adults. Many other species had young about 1/8th their size or less- the humanoid races had children up to 1/6th the size of the adult. (Possibly even larger in some rare cases.)

As the nights grew longer and colder the people did not despair. They simply acted normal. Children were used to the harsh, unrelenting winds and snow. Elders paid little mind to ice or extreme temperatures.

He had asked Elta _why_ these people would _choose_ to live here. Elta shrugged and said _“We have simply always lived here. Our fathers and mothers lived here, and their parents did so too. Practically everyone who has lived here has been here for generations. We do get a few newcomers every once and a while, but they hardly ever leave.”_

Grimnir was puzzled by that answer. Did they not know that life would be easier down the valley? That the slopes were dangerous and one of the most deadly places for mortals to live? Why would they choose to have such horrid winters and to be constantly bending to the will of the weather?

Ancestry and attachment couldn’t be that strong of a drive, could it?

Grimnir had spent more and more nights in Elta’s house, leeching off his warm fire and overabundance of plush objects.

“Do you know why your people live here?”

Elta looked up from the great stew pot over the fire. “What do you mean?”

“How did your people come here?”

A small smile tugged at his lip. “I’m glad Longpine did not record that story.”

“Why? Is it sacred?”

“Somewhat.”

“....Can you tell it to me? Or would that be blasphemous?”

“You are a god, I fail to see how doing so would be blasphemous.”

“....Then tell me.”

Elta smiled at his childish tone, sitting cross legged on the rug. “The first of the humans lived underground. We do not know how long they were down there, or why they lived in such a manner, but that was were humanity was nurtured and developed.”

Something dawned on his face, and he stood, motioning that he would return, before scurrying off to some shelves. “There is a painting of this story. We allow artistic depictions, but records are highly disrespectful to the mountains. And to Frigg.”

“Who is Frigg?”

“The mother of the island. We should probably start there, truth be told. Everyone skips over her part around here because we all know of her.”

“So do your people only have _one_ parent?” That was obviously illogical, but he could never be too sure.

“What? Oh, no. Frigg is the mother of the _island_. She did create the humans and draphs and harvins and erunes- But I don’t think her blood runs in any of us.”

“...That makes much more sense now…”

Elta chuckled, grabbing an odd leather bag and returning to his spot in front of the fire. Carefully, he opened the bag and brought out a large scroll of thin leather. Deftly, his fingers slid open the end of the scroll, placing it on the floor infront of him. “Here. That is where this all starts.” He stated, finger gently tapping at the small image of a woman, standing on the edge of a rift, dressed all in grey.

“No one knows what was before lady Frigg. Not even she did. One day, she simply appeared in the skies.” Elta moved his finger towards the rift, following along the obvious path of the story. “Back then, the only thing here was a rift to pandemonium. They were everywhere- the gates to the silent chaos.”

The pit was painted in a curious way, with large brushstrokes of white interrupting the black. Perhaps there was some symbolic meaning to that.

“She desired to cover the pit and seal the rift, as the noise so greatly bothered her. But there was a problem. The particular rift under this land was home to a very… _particular_ beast. She was called Briggs.”

A massive beast crawled out from the chasm, horns stretching to the skies, pale white eyes on the snout of a deer. It was covered in black and white fur, with odd hooves that bore an odd resemblance to fingers.

“Frigg asked Briggs what she was doing down there, all alone in the darkness and the chaos. And Briggs told her that the astrals had cast her down as scrap. Wandering the skies grew boring, so she settled in the chasm to rot.”

The massive monster refused to leave its bed of blackness, peering out over the edge. Frigg seemed so small next to it.

“Frigg asked if she could build an island over the rift. A mighty land of ice and stone and flora and fauna. Briggs scoffed at her proposition. She said that there was no way for a tiny being like Frigg to possibly stitch the chasm together. But, Frigg was a cunning woman, and Briggs was a competitive one. Frigg proposed a contest, but only if Briggs would climb out of the chasm.”

Frigg seemed even smaller now that Briggs had climbed out of her rift, large, powerful legs crushing the very fabric of the sky. 

“Frigg grabbed her whalebone needles and her strongest gut threads, giving one to Briggs and keeping one for herself. She stated the rules of the competition. She will start on the south end of the chasm, and Briggs will start on the north end. They were to both start stitching the rift closed. Whoever made the most stitches when the chasm was sealed was to be the winner.”

Massive white needles were presented to the beast, along with a spectacular amount of thread.

“They agreed to have the competition begin at sunrise the previous day, so before the competition began, they ate and drank together, fostering a closer bond. As sunrise approached, they took their places on each side of the rift.”

The two women ate and drank together, joyful expressions on their faces as the stars gleamed down overhead. There was no moon upon the sky. As the sky grew pink on the page, the two women took their positions.

“As the first sunbeam crossed the horizon, they began. Briggs stormed down the chasm, stitching it together with massive strokes of the needle. In no time at all, she had met up with Frigg’s stitches. Boisterously, she declared herself the winner.”

Briggs let out a mighty below, massive needle in hand.

“But Frigg had an objection. She pointed out that the winner would be the one with the most total stitches. Briggs looked down at the stitches that Frigg had made. While significantly smaller in size, she had made more than thrice the number of stitches than Briggs did. Briggs yielded, claiming that the land was now Frigg’s.”

The beast started to walk into the skies, shoulders slumped and ears drooped.

“But Frigg called out to her, inviting her to help in building the island. Briggs was confused with this proposal, but agreed.”

“...So then they created the island?”

Elta nodded, carefully rolling the scroll back up and placing it in the satchel. “Yes.”

“Then why is it named Frigg? What came after that?” Grimnir’s interest was quite piqued with the story. It was so… _different_ from the realities of the creation of the world. It seemed more romantic, more playful. There was probably no other story in the skies quite like it and that’s what made it great.

“There is a neighboring island on the other side of the mountains called Briggs. There is an ancient fortress there. Or that’s what the myth says. And I could continue with the story, if you would like.” He responded, shuffling for another scroll. “I can tell you the _complete_ story to boot. Some parts are not exactly… ideal for children’s ears.”

Grimnir nodded excitedly as Elta unraveled another leather scroll.

“So, once the rift was carefully stitched together by the two of them, they set about creating the land. At first, they were going to use shards of sky steel, but they realized that it would only create the base of the island, and simply made a flat and barren plain.”

The two women looked out over a plate of deep grey, settled in the blue of the sky.

“Briggs proposed that they use the carcass of a whale to shape the island. Frigg did not believe this would work, but let her try anyway.”

Frigg sat on the edge of the steel plate, watching as her partner walked into the horizon.

“Frigg waited for a very long time. Finally, upon the day when the sun remained the longest in the sky, Briggs returned, dragging the skeleton of a whale behind her. Frigg rushed to her, embracing her despite the fact that she was still covered in whale blood.”

Their reunion was quite sweet, Briggs carefully holding her partner in the palm of her hand.

“Briggs set about putting the skeleton on the island, imbedding the ridges of the spine into the steel. She placed the flippers on either side, forming the peninsulas we have now. The tail was positioned to the north, the head to the south. But the land was still barren. Frigg thought for 7 days and 7 nights, pacing up and down Briggs back as she worked on construction. Finally, Briggs grew frustrated.”

_“I shall find a way to cover these bones! If you continue to tear my hair out I may as well use it to build the land!”_

“Something dawned on the two of them at that moment. They could cover the land with Briggs skin! Frigg was apprehensive to do so, not wanting to harm her only companion. Briggs merely laughed, stating that she would do anything to complete the dream of the woman she loved.”

Briggs brought a knife to her chest, faded drops of red paint symbolizing the blood that must have spilled from her breast.

“Briggs removed her skin, and with her last breaths, draped it over the bones. Her blood dripped down upon the highest peaks, congealing and forming the vast plains of ice. She cried from the pain, her tears causing the fur to slip down the sides of the skeleton, meeting with the base of the earth.”

The white underbelly and patches of fur landed upon the tips of the whale’s ribs, the deepest colors draping down into the valley, coloring the fertile soil.

“Frigg stood upon the very end of the whale’s skull, weeping at the collapsing Briggs. The blood in her body poured onto the steel, becoming the sea, as her flesh hardened and became stone. Frigg was so overcome with grief at the loss of her lover she howled and screamed for 10,000 years.”

“Did she do anything else during that time?”

Elta looked up from the scroll. “We have found beings frozen in the ice that may have been from this time. We think that the nails she ripped from her fingers became giant fish, and the hair she ripped from her skull became animals. But there was no sun during those years, so most of those creatures died. There was no day when the eternal blizzard did not cease.”

Grimnir studied the painting on the scroll. Frigg’s anguish was almost _tangible_. He was suddenly reminded of the sorrow and anguish that struggled to take over Shiva’s expression all those weeks ago.

“The one day, her anger ceased. The day the moon dominated the day, a woman stood upon the skull of Briggs. She did not know where she was, what she was, but claimed her name was Ymir, and that she was sent to assist Frigg in the creation of the island.”

A strong woman with thick dark hair stood on a pale rock in the middle of the sea. She wore no clothes, save for a deerskin over her shoulders.

“Frigg rushed over to embrace and kiss her, elated that her love had been reincarnated as a woman of her kind. Ymir was intent upon starting the production of the world as soon as possible, but Frigg had other plans for them.” Elta chuckled. “The paintings get more… erotic after this, so I can skip over them if you would like.”

“I am not the type of being to shy away from such pleasures. Humans and primals have much more in common than you might think.”

Something dark seized Elta’s face. He managed to shake it, but not quickly enough that Grimnir did not notice.

“Anyway, Frigg convinced Ymir that they must lie together in order to create life, and they did so. Frigg brought Ymir into the deepest tunnel of the island of Briggs to confirm their relationship. For three entire months, to be exact.”

The paintings were most certainly erotic in nature, but they did little for Grimnir. He had no interest in things like that, although he did have to commend the artist for the refined style and colors of the depictions.

“When they emerged, the snows had stopped. The earth was wet and fertile. Ymir knew nothing about creation, and watched in awe as Frigg, two by two, created all the life in the sea.”

Grimnir found it quite amusing that both women had begun to abandon their clothes. He couldn’t shame them in any way, he would be slightly hypocritical if he did, but there was something so… innocent about it. Charming, even.

“Then, Frigg broke off a part of Brigg’s antlers, long having turned to stone. She ground it up in a mortar and scattered the ground fragments across the land, creating the flowers and trees and grass. They lived in harmony there, with the beings of the sea and the plants of the earth. One day, a pair of penguins came to the two of them at their home on the tip of the whale’s tail.”

A home made of stone sat by the beach, the two women sitting on a bench, a pair of penguins- strange flightless birds- before them. 

“The penguins were tired of flying through the sea, and wanted to fly through the air. Frigg and Ymir debated this for a while, before deciding to allow the penguins to grow flight feathers and fly through the sky. They then became the Gulls. Frigg started to create other birds to populate the sky, like the terns, and the lion albatross.”

Fantastic creatures fill the sky, beasts of varying sizes. Frigg creating each of them from a single feather. 

“Then, the turtles came to them, and said they wanted to populate the land. The pair agreed, and gave them claws so they could live on the land and build their homes there.”

Frigg began to plan in her home, building objects out of clay and fur as Ymir talked with the turtles.

“50 years after Briggs returned to her in the form of Ymir, Frigg decided to create creatures after her own image. Her colored coat gave rise to the reindeer, her bellow the elk, and her speed to the deer. Her strength gave rise to the Draft elk, and her patience the snowspot reindeer. Her devotion became that of the heart-tailed deer.”

Many mammals, large and small, covered the page. It looked more scientific than mythic, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

“Ymir loved the creations, but she felt like they were missing something. So she started to make her own creations, after Frigg’s image. She created the hound, the goat, the wolf, the steer, the mountain lion, and the jabber cat.”

The forests were filled with creatures and plants and insects. Ymir and Frigg laughed and strolled through this land, through their self-created paradise.

“Then one day, the humans came stumbling out of the island of Briggs. Frigg and Ymir did not know what to do with these odd, fragile creatures. When Ymir went to welcome one, her handshake crippled its palm.”

The humans were gangly, pale creatures. They could hardly stand on their own, eyes used to the darkness and bodies used to the cold.

“Ymir and Frigg did not wish to massacre the flawed creatures, so they allowed them to roam the islands and make their homes. Many humans died during those times, being unable to inhabit any area except for the high valleys and the alpine slopes. Frigg did not like seeing them suffer, she did not like seeing them lonely. So, on the evening of the longest moon, she built the other races. The Harvins were carved from the tree stumps, and they inhabited the valley. The Draphs were carved from the stones of the mountain, and went to inhabit the highest peaks. The Erunes were crafted from the souls of animals, and came to inhabit the beaches.”

The creation of all the species filled the pages with color and form, Erunes fishing in the seas, harvins tilling the lands and hunting the forests. The Draphs working at their smitheries and weaving their fine wools. The humans bridged all of these communities, bringing trade and offering shelter and refuge for the other species.

“Gradually, the peoples became connected, and moved into each other’s settlements. And that is how we came to the world today.”

That was quite. Anticlimactic. “So what happened to Ymir and Frigg?”

Elta rolled up the scroll and put it away. “We don’t know. Rumor has it Frigg wandered back to the heavens and became the moon, others say she was killed in the astral wars. Some say Ymir gradually became like Briggs again after Frigg’s disappearance, and blames the humans for it. Some say she is the fabled monster.”

“Interesting.”

“Yes. You can never know what the people who loved you the most can do to your own creations.” Elta’s tone was dark and contemplative. Something had happened to him, Grimnir could practically _smell_ it. 

“So you celebrate in the middle of winter to appease the monster?”

The satchel of scrolls were carefully placed on the shelf. “Somewhat. It used to be a festival to celebrate the unity of all the races, but it’s always been… tense. To say the least.”

Grimnir stood, brushing himself off. He should probably leave Elta alone. “I look forward to the festivities. I shall return to my own lodgings now. Thank you for your hospitality.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, Kudo, whatever you want to do!
> 
> I have a [Twitter!!!!!!!!!!!](https://twitter.com/ConfuzzledSheep?lang=en) Where you can totally come talk to me! See y'all next chapter!


	5. Festivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would live to see those children grow up. He would live to see them die.
> 
> Wandering like an immortal ghost through the land, collecting stories and events, going by different names in different times, different places.

Grimnir had never understood the reason why humans loved to be intoxicated until that evening.

The wine warmed his chest and felt like embers upon the underside of his throat. Everything seemed a bit prettier- he did not know that human booze would affect him in such a way.

It was almost like being back in the war tents, the sounds of shanties and battle-hardened men bringing him back to the days when he was truly a _god._

The men leaning on the tables and swinging wildly upon benches, arms around each other and drinking like they would not see the following day.

Because for a time, they had good reason to believe that they would not.

Lanterns swung between buildings in the icy winds. Children built rough approximations of animals and people out of snow. Adults and juveniles alike listened to Elta’s wafting voice as he spoke of great legends and the reasons behind why they celebrated this day.

Grimnir had never been invited to a festival. He doubted Primals had them.

He had seen them, in his lonely, lofty perch above the clouds. Looking down at how they celebrated and danced in the streets.

Children ran past him as he braced himself against the side of a tavern. Saliva was flooding his mouth and his stomach was twisting in knots.

He would live to see those children grow up. He would live to see them die.

Wandering like an immortal ghost through the land, collecting stories and events, going by different names in different times, different places.

Elta would be dead in the blink of an eye- It made him sick to his stomach.

Not that he was already puking his guts out in the snow, ducking into a small alley behind houses.

While that part was simply not fun, he could see the appeal of alcohol, especially in large quantities. It masked a specific kind of sadness Grimnir had been long trying to silence, although he knew full and well that the sadness would only grow stronger when the wine left his system.

Snowflakes drifted down and stuck to his hair, and he was barely able to clean the taste of bile and undigested food from his mouth when he was yanked by the back of his coat to another open home, more food and wine placed in front of him. The well-meaning villager long disappeared by the time he turned to hollowly thank them.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Grimnir turned to the familiar voice. Elta sat next to him, cello leaning against a wall nearby. He was surrounded by bags and satchels stuffed with scrolls and illustrations. 

“It’s more… lively than I expected?” Grimnir himself didn’t really know what to feel, a pain still clawing at his chest.

“It is well past midnight, if you would like to head back to my home. Perhaps I could clear things up.”

Another tankard of booze was slammed in front of Grimnir. This was certainly ale or mead- although he hardly knew the difference. It would be rude of him to refuse offering from a host, so he downed the great mug before turning back to Elta, who had packed all of his belongings and was ready to leave.

The snow crunched underfoot as an odd sense of loneliness ate away at his insides. 

“Elta.”

“Yes?”

“...What makes life worth living?”

The man paused, likely out of the suddenness of the question.

“...I do respectfully request that you ask me that again when we return home. I will have a suitable answer by then.”

***

Hati and Skoll were curled up before the low fire. Grimnir was amazed Elta could get the fires to last this long.

Elta would usually scurry around to put everything back on its proper place, but that evening he just set it all down on the heavy wood table and collapsed into an rocking chair next to the bench Grimnir so fancied.

“...If there was ever a reason to live I may have just lost it.”

Grimnir’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you… mean?”

“I wanted to spread music and stories to all the islands at one point. Music could be used for healing. I knew that and I got very skilled at using it in that manner- but then it all changed.”

“Why?”

Elta paused, trying to compose a coherent recollection of his experience. He had already placed more logs on the fire, the light making him seem much older and wiser beyond his years. 

“...I was traveling to an island that was hit by a natural disaster. The people used to love the arts and music, but they grew bitter during that time. They didn’t realize that their island was the home of the Primal of the arts. Their bitterness became a cancer inside of him, and despite his best efforts to stop it, he grew possessed and wicked and started to rampage across the island. After a team defeated and quelled him, he swore himself into a deep slumber to ensure something like that would never happen again.”

Elta was almost beside himself, fighting off a flood of emotions that Grimnir could hardly label or distinguish. That was when he realized. What put him apart from the other high primals. 

Suffering. True suffering. A true _loss._

Europa had never seen someone die before her eyes nor did she live in fear of losing the ones she loved and Alexiel never had to worry about being irrelevant or without purpose or position and maybe Shiva had gotten close but he knew deep down that all of his immortal army would come back or pass on to a better afterlife and he thought it was just natural and he never actually _lost_ any of them until-

Shiva didn’t really _lose_ anything until Grimnir left.

Or that’s the best Grimnir could think of. If his feelings were returned. 

Shiva stared true loss right in the eye when Grimnir felt that venom flood his veins for the first time. He kept living with the very real fact that someone he _cared about_ could die in _minutes_ from something he decided was under his control. Grimnir’s attempt to use him as a tool of self punishment made him panic because _he_ was the weapon now. He needed to keep _himself_ away from Grimnir now because he didn’t want to cause him harm.

He sniffled, feeling the tears well in his eyes.

“Is that what being a mortal is? Living in fear of suffering?”

Elta’s eyes held the embers of the fire in it’s deep colors. “Perhaps it is. Perhaps it isn’t.”

The tears kept flowing, and Elta passed him a handkerchief, before returning to the rocking chair. He stared off into what seemed to be the sky itself, seeing past the roof and the trees and the clouds and possibly even the stars- thinking back on a time Grimnir will never experience, people Grimnir would never know.

At that moment, Grimnir did not want to reach out into the long gone time. He wanted to reach out and grasp something else between his hands before it vanished. Before it simply left him down here on the islands.

He wanted Shiva. He wanted Shiva like he never wanted anyone before. 

***

Europa was furious when he left. Alexiel was more… unreadable, but their qualms and opinions would not stop him.

Traveling the islands, not as a primal, but as a man, was strange. He started at the southernmost isles and worked his way up, asking for where he could find a man with hair the color of snow, milky skin, and a vibrant green eye.

All the signs pointed north.

His dark skin shined under the light if the desert. Vasuki was curled around his neck, taking advantage of the shade produced by the light linen hood. The long robes he wore to cover his arms were good against the sands but torture upon his body- trapping heat despite the thin fabric and light colors.

Blinking away the sun, his third eye ached. It so desired to predict, to strategize. Although it was practically useless outside of combat situations and would not assist him here at all.

Maybe he would let the eye do as it pleased at a later time, but he was more focused on making it across the sands of Mephorash.

Europa and Alexiel’s words bothered him. They didn’t mean harm, they were simply confused: extremely out of their element and still trying to even consider the idea that a god could feel such things. Alexiel was noble enough to accept taking on some of his more pressing duties in his absence, and he would have to thank her for that.

But his focus was entirely on Grimnir. There was unlikely anything on the islands that would be a risk to his health or life, but something deeper and likely more unreasonable scared him.

That Grimnir was struggling in the underbellies of society, captured by some unknown evil, in the clutches of some mysterious danger- that is what scared him. He did not know where Grimnir was, how he was faring. Was he safe? Was he cared for?

Shiva couldn’t answer these questions and that’s what made his stomach contort and heart clench as he blankly stared at the wall of his small fabric tent. He wanted Grimnir in his arms- he wanted to know he was safe and not hurting himself and that no human had made an attempt to hurt him.

He was all alone in this vast stretch of sand save for Vasuki- but they were more an extension of himself than anything else. Grimnir was an extension of himself in a way as well, but more of a compliment. Not an exact opposite of himself, they shared some commonalities- but where Shiva lacked expression, Grimnir carried it in droves. Shiva had more than enough restraint for the both of them- and there were countless other things they could rely upon each other for.

Grimnir would have been able to snag food in the lifeless desert through nothing short of a miracle but he would have done it all the same. Grimnir would have teased his outfit- or better yet, struggled to hide a blush over the pattern and layers of Shiva’s new robes.

It was like a honey-laced wine. Once he had indulged in a taste of what they could be he simply couldn’t get enough. Grimnir intoxicated him like no other being could and he wanted to dive into the uncertainty and ecstasy with a naive fervor he had never experienced before. 

He was a war general- diving in blind was something he would never do normally- but Grimnir was the exception.

Vasuki pulled him out of his thoughts, curling up on a rug next to him. He should probably rest for the day- traveling at night was far safer than toiling under the hot sun.

The masses of fabrics he kept his arms occupied, but they were hardly anywhere close to a replacement.

_What did I do wrong? He would have left eventually but why did I do that to him? How could I allow myself to become a problem?_

_How could I do that to him?_


	6. Hung up, Hungover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Oh._
> 
>  
> 
> _**OH.** _
> 
>  
> 
> It dawned on Grimnir as he looked at the way Elta’s face moved- they were in _love._

Grimnir’s Brain was a shriveled prune, and his skull was collapsing in on itself.

More weapons than he could possibly _count_ had been shoved through the lumpy mass of matter but somehow it hurt more than it ever did before at this very moment.

_So this is what a hangover feels like._

Primal alcohol never gave him hangovers- it was laced with _something_ to be perfectly absorbed by their bodies for maximum intoxication and also no side effects from said intoxication.

The feeling of his head being split open was surprisingly… _welcome._

It reminded him he didn’t die the night before, despite the overwhelming need to die _right now_ to get the pain to stop.

Elta was shuffling about the kitchen, cooking something that made Grimnir’s mouth water. How the mortal could _move_ while in such pain was astonishing to him.

All the scrolls and illustrations he had on the table had been put away, and Grimnir spotted a wooden cup placed at his unofficial spot at the table.

“Mhggnnhghgoooorrrnnniinggg….”

“...Morning Grimnir.”

The primal slowly sat up, the room spinning around him. “Never knew mortal alcohol was this bad…”

Elta let out a dry chuckle, before coughing a bit.

“You alright?”

He nodded, stirring whatever was in the pot at the fire.

“...Smells good. What is it?”

“Broth.”

“...Smells like quail.”

Two mugs were pulled from a cabinet and set on the stones before the fire pit. Elta filled them with the mysterious golden liquid. Steam spilled from the rims and Grimnir had never smelled something so _good_ in his life.

He didn’t get off the bench so much as he fell to the floor and wiggled his way over to the mortal, who was sitting on a low stool. Grimnir knew his eyepatch had fallen off and he looked like an overall mess but he was completely uncaring of that fact, greedily slurping down the burning liquid.

Grimnir had spent the past few months on earth eating perhaps some of the blandest food known to man and he was going to cry into the well worn rug because the greatest food possibly ever made just touched his lips and blessed his parched throat.

He might be behaving much too dramatically but so long as Elta kept filling his cup he was going to keep drinking the delicious salty bird water.

Finally the pot had well been emptied, Elta taking his fill as well. Grimnir’s head hurt a bit less than before and he wanted to curl up on the floor and go to sleep right then and there but something was still tugging at his mind.

“What was the name. Of the primal you talked about last night.”

Elta looked at him with a mournful gaze. Grimnir hadn’t taken a good look at him, being much too focused on inhaling the broth presented to him.

The mortal looked half dead, in Grimnir’s opinion. His brown hair was a mess barely held back by his headband, his thick sweater stained and frayed around the edges. His thick socks had a few holes in them. Dark bags made his eyes sink deep into his skull, and his brow seemed to be permanently marked with wrinkles carved into his very bone.

“...His name was Caro.”

_Caro?! The man who painted those portraits in the great hall? The one I was unsure of? The one that didn’t even look like me?_

“I’ve never met him. You must have revered him, as an artist yourself.”

Elta smiled, eyes closing peacefully. “I revered him, for a while.”

“Did something change?”

“We became equals.”

_Oh._

_**OH.** _

It dawned on Grimnir as he looked at the way Elta’s face moved- they were in _love._

Primals falling in love with humans was not an uncommon thing, but these feelings were fleeting and sometimes unreturned.

If what Elta was suggesting was true…

Then Caro had loved him in return.

It astounded him that Elta could talk about a man he loved without breaking into tears. Grimnir could never hope to be that strong if such a thing happened to him.

That was the difference between himself and mortals. They were so spectacularly resilient- or at least, a good majority were. Despite the raging thoughts of suffering and anguish and emptiness they lived on. Some got over and traversed that great sea and some did not- but those who did were not an insignificant percentage.

“So you will- never…”

“I will never see him again, no. I will live on and die before he awakes again.”

His head was pounding and the room was spinning and he couldn’t see the patterns of the rug from the tears flooding his eyes and dripping onto the wool.

It was such a tragic thing- and he wanted to fix it. Mortals shouldn’t have to suffer like that! There must be a way for him to resurrect Caro so they could be together and happy so they would both not be lonely!-

“Grimnir. There’s nothing you can do.”

How could Elta stay so calm?! How could he speak so calmly, so evenly! He had suffered something absolutely unbelievable!

“Grimnir, look at me.”

The primal glanced up, tears still staining his cheeks.

“You don’t need to cry over me. I have shed my own tears and mourned for nearly a _year_ over him- but I can’t do that anymore. I need to keep living. That’s what he would have wanted.”

“How- _how_ can you not cry over it!? You will _die_ before he awakes! You will _never see him again!”_ Grimnir sobbed, and he wondered if those tears were really about Caro- or if they were his own fears given voice.

Elta was wounded, Grimnir could tell that much. He had been twisting and wrenching the thorn in his heart for for far too long- it couldn’t be healthy to do such a thing.

“I don’t know.”

Grimnir’s brows creased, confused at his response.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how I can no longer cry over him.”

Tears wet the faded reds and oranges beneath them. Elta was crying.

“I no longer mourn him, as he is not dead, but- but everything that once was living- that could have once lived between us is dead and now the world lacks its color and _I don’t know if I could ever see the world like I did before-“_

Elta had sunk to the floor, rough wool scratching the sides of his face as he wiped his eyes.

“No other mortal could have seen the world the way he did but I cannot allow myself to die before my time or he would be even more devastated- I just, I just can’t ignore the _possibility_ he will arise sooner rather than later and that I could see him _now_ or on my deathbed when I am nothing but a senile old coot who had long forgotten him!-“

Words were spilling from his mouth like a torrential rain and Grimnir felt it in his heart. He spoke with more passion than any time he had told Grimnir the stories of the land- stories without intrinsic feeling. Those stories were created for people to attach their pain to, to color and erase as much as they pleased-

Elta’s testimony was nothing _but_ emotion; raw and ancient and universal. Grimnir felt himself being dragged into Elta’s pain, like a shared blanket of suffering. As the tears spilled and his soul was striped naked like a newborn Grimnir felt the urge to share in return- to connect over the pain, to _bond_ over the shared threads of loneliness.

His head felt like it had taken a dozen cleaves from Colossus in a row but his heart was thundering and he thought of all the things he had done with Shiva and all the things he had yet to do and how some of those possibilities had _died_ when he left.

Elta had stopped talking, simply babbling and bawling- Grimnir was sure he hadn’t cried in a very, very long time. Grabbing a blanket hanging off the edge of the rocking chair he wrapped the mortal as tight as he could, unsure if an embrace would be of ill taste.

Trembling arms and tears on his shoulder answered his question.

The fire was snapping and starting to run low, but it would be fine. Grimnir would ensure it would be fine. He wanted solid food or maybe more broth and his head was still pounding but he couldn’t let Elta go. He couldn’t let Elta be alone in his pain, because it was shared.

It was what tied them together like tendons, stretching and bending between them, pulling them closer than ever.

***

The town was asleep when he arrived.

He needed to find an airship, a way to move northward. The docks were empty save for the handful of guards and late-night arrivals being unpacked and sorted.

Shiva almost considered pulling favors with Noa, but he decided against it. He came to travel like a Mortal, not a primal.

Resting on a pile of empty crates, he allowed Vasuki to slither down his arm to hunt the fat rats that scurried between the barrels of wine and the sacks of sugar.

Carefully he unfurled his map, marking Mephorash with the small charcoal pencil he kept with him.

He was running out of options. The most likely options in Phantagrande were now North Vast or Golonzo. The Nalhengrande Skydom had Bestia and Kluger Island, which were also quite plausible, although finding a skyfarer willing to take him that far would be a challenge.

_Golonzo has a temperate climate that he would be more familiar with, and it’s a gathering place for many skyfarers. I would easily be able to get a ride there, and Noa may still be located there… He would possibly know of Grimnir’s whereabouts… If not then I will continue further north… Ah, Alster Island is a possibility… No, Golonzo first. Perhaps I will run into that strange mortal and their crew…”_

The sun was starting to rise, Vasuki slithering back to him stuffed and quite pleased with themselves.

“We will find a skyfarer and depart soon enough. Don’t worry friend.”

He spotted a man carrying a roll of parchment in what looked like official garb. Quickly he stood, assembling his belongings.

“Pardon me sir, but do you by any chance know of the next airship heading to Golonzo?”


	7. Friends

“We won’t be free for much longer…”

Grimnir grumbled, face buried in a pillow. Naturally the festival lasted several days, and their suffering was not over- Elta had informed him that the children of the village were often shuttled off to a large hall so the adults could celebrate with no limitations.

_“This evening is a celebration of the…. well… uniting powers of sin.”_

He didn’t want to ask any more questions.

Elta had cleaned his home and was again packing his bags full of scrolls and images. “You are welcome to roam as you may like, you have no obligation to stay with me. I am sure the children more familiar with the stories will find you quite the anomaly.”

“I don’t think that would necessarily be the case…”

***

Shiva never expected to travel with mortals- let alone a crew such as this one.

The captains- a being often called the ‘Singularities’, for reasons unknown to him, were kind. They had defeated him before in honorable combat: Grimnir too, he was sure. Before everything started to crumble.

They were heading to North Vast- there were legends of a man who fell from the sky on one of the particular islands, and Shiva was sure it was worth a look.

Various peoples filled the airship- there were humans and erunes and draphs and primals and harvins and _Sandalphon_ of all people.

Sisters that were human and draph, humans and erunes- comrades in arms.

Nights were spent on the deck, basking in the evening winds, stars overhead, thinking about what it would be like to have Grimnir with him.

There were personalities on the ship quite compatible with his own- Grimnir might be happy here. He always had loved humans, despite how confusing this was for everyone else.

Europa and Alexiel had never really tried to understand.

The only other primal on the ship with any semblance of Grimnir’s feelings about humans was Sandalphon- although there were much more obvious and pressing parallels between the two of them.

Sandalphon was a more aggressive form of Grimnir’s sadness- he snapped at everything, boiling in his own loss that Shiva was very much aware of- the loss of Lucifer was the thing on everyone’s minds.

Except his own.

In another time he would be worrying about another astral attack, but now was not that time. That was the future he would never be able to see- that future didn’t matter to him.

Grimnir mattered to him. Grimnir was _now._ Not some mysterious future he would have to deal with later.

He wanted Grimnir to be a part of his future. More than anything else.

Vasuki was curled in his lap, trying to take some of his latent heat.

“Soon friend, soon. Soon we will find him.”

***

He was _feasting_ on his words and he loved every damn bite.

Wearing parts of his armour had become habit to him- the metal preserving heat and he felt practically nude without it- but it had given the children the impression that he was an actor- and thus he played the part of one.

“It is I! Great warrior of the tempest, god of the cyclones’s winds! Grimnir!”

That was enough to make a few of the younger children giggle, the older ones holding on to their youngest siblings as Elta recounted the slightly edited version of the creation story to them.

But those forgotten middle children who had long grown bored of the story flocked to him immediately, curiosity piqued by the mysterious newcomer none of them had met.

Some had decided to ride upon Hati and Skoll’s back, digging their stubby little hands into the thick white fur.

He was showered in questions, answering every one with ease- ‘Is there a land behind the stars?’, ‘Do primals have to drink milk too?’ ‘Are clouds made of sheep or yogurt?’

They taught him games- his favorite was one similar to dice, marked pig knuckles tossed into the air, the person with the highest number winning the round.

He would see these children grow old and die.

And he had almost come to terms with that fact. Their time on earth needed to be worthwhile, playing with them and telling them all they wanted to know was the least he could do.

A blizzard raged outside the longhouse, but no one inside minded. They had food and wood and blankets, they would make it.

Eventually, the night became too deep for them, the younger ones nodding off well before the older ones- the responsible eldest siblings putting them to bed, before succumbing to sleep themselves.

Elta packed up his things as the fire died down- pilling the bags in a corner before laying out a sleeping mat for himself.

“Grimnir.”

“Yes?”

“Can you watch the fire? If you need to switch out with me just wake me up.”

Grimnir didn’t need sleep as badly as humans did. Primals were built differently. “...I will.”

“‘Night.”

“Sleep well Elta.”

The blue woven blanket shuffled and moved as Elta adjusted himself. The longhouse was dark, save for a single fire- now not much more than embers.

Grimnir put on some kindling, gently blowing on the glowing stripes of orange.

The twigs caught, and slowly, he built the fire up again.

It took him a few weeks to figure it out on his own.

Hati and Skoll were asleep next to Elta, a few children curled up beside them.

He would tend to the fire all night if he must. No, not if he must. He would do so anyway, regardless of duty.

Orange and gold licked the wood and tasted the stale air as he watched. Shiva could probably do beautiful things with the flames. Make it dance over his hands and down his arms.

The radiating warmth felt all to similar. Fires always felt like Shiva. Grimnir could feel emotions start to bubble and rise, tears tugging at his eyes. The comfort traveling through his skin, how it made him feel at ease, it made him feel safe and known and _loved-_

Small arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Grimnirrr… I had a nightmare…..”

Tears were blinked away. A small boy was clutching at his shirt, trying to stay close to him.

“Whats-”

He got no reply. He could feel tears upon his shirt.

A soft voice eked past the wool and leather.“...Could you… chase them away….”

Grimnir looked down at the flames, merely inches from his hands. He wanted to reach out and gather some in his hand, press it against his heart and feel Shiva again.

“I cannot… But the fire can. The fire defeats all.”

He moved his arm, and the boy crawled under it, and he draped a blanket over them, like a hen to a chick.

Glassy brown eyes wet with tears reflected the fire. Grimnir used his finger to dry the streaks of saltwater from the boy’s cheeks.

“Grimnir.”

“Yes?”

“Why is your eye pink?”

He almost smacked a hand over his eye. His eye covering had been removed and he completely forgot- hopefully this kid wouldn’t tell.

“Well-uh, um-”

The boy’s eyes started to sparkle. “You’re a _primal!”_

_Well, there’s that cover blown._ “Well, uh, yes, but-”

“Don’t worry!! I won’t tell!!”

Something made Grimnir a bit suspect of that claim.

“Wait, how do I know you’re really a primal??”

Grimnir was stupid, this was merely a fact of the universe. He did things on gross impulse, regardless of the situation at hand.

The scorching embers were already in his palm before he even knew what he was doing.

“I don’t think a regular human could do this.”

The boy’s eyes were as wide and shocked as a calf’s. Carefully, he poured the sticks of burning wood back into the fire, sparks flying onto his bare arms.

“See?”

“You’re. A _real PRIMA-”_

Grimnir hushed the boy. “Yes. I am.”

“Then why are you down here?”

He couldn’t answer that. He didn’t even know why he was here. “That’s a secret~”

The boy pouted.

“What’s your name little one?”

“...Agnar.”

“...That’s a nice name.”

“My Dad gave it to me. It’s my uncles name. He’s dead.”

Grimnir was definitely off put by the child's bluntness, but that was something he was starting to realize about children. They were quite brutally honest, before they became jaded with societies ideals and expectations.

“That’s a shame.”

“He was a jerk.”

_How old is this kid?!_ Agnar couldn’t be much older than… Seven? Ten? Grimnir was a poor judge of such things. “Well.”

“...I won’t tell anyone. That you’re a primal.”

“How can I be sure of that?”

A pinkie was offered out to him.

“What are you-”

“You’ve never made a pinkie promise? Wow, you’re _really_ a Primal…”

Grimnir pouted. “Show me.”

“Put up your pinkie like this…”

“Ok….”

“Then wrap it around mine like this-”

“What is this supposed to do?”

“Symbolize our promise.”

“...Really?”

 Agnar nodded. “By doing this, you know i'm serious!”

Grimnir smiled, pulling his hand away so he could tend to the fire. “You better keep your word.”

“I would never disrespect a God like that!”

Something hit at his heart like a rock against a tree. The tears welled in his eyes again. “That’s a good philosophy to have. It will get you far.”

There was no answer. He turned to look at Agnar, only to find him asleep, curled against his side.

“I’m glad I’m still a god to someone…”

***

Shiva descended the ramp to the port. The cold winds whipped through his linen clothes, Gran and Djeeta being generous enough to provide him with a warm cloak for the journey.

He would need to gift them something in return… Perhaps one of his weapons would do…

_No, ponder later. Grimnir is more important than some gift I can acquire at any time._

There was a hub of traveling merchants, If anyone knew where Grimnir was, it would be someone in there.

He was lucky there was a man already telling a very suspicious story as he entered the tavern

“I’m tellin’ ya! The man fell from the sky!” a man proclaimed, heavy coat resting on his chair.

His friend scoffed, taking a sip of beer. “Sure ‘e did.”

“Nah! Doug i’m ser’us! Man fell from the sky lookin’ like the snow! He got one eye like the grass and the other like flesh! The minstrel went to check ‘em out!”

“Ya sent. A _minstrel._ To check on a man who fell from da _sky?”_

A third man jumped in. “Was it that kid who almost fucked a primal?”

The man telling the story sputtered. “Elta won’t say if ‘e fucked a primal or not! But that don’t matter because we got a different one in Longpine’s old place!”

“Goddamn that house just draws in the crazies, dunnit?”

“Look, I can’t get back up there because of tha snow! What if it wrecks the place and we end up like Parfetto? Or fuckin Oakridge!”

“No one knows what happened in Oakridge John. Now stop drinkin or ya gonna start rambling about a bear you saw with a great rack!”

Shiva watched as the men blathered about. The food he bought was fatty and tasteless, covered in salt and still dripping with blood.

The night had died down when he made his move.

The merchant, John, almost jumped out of his skin as Shiva pulled up a chair next to him.

“I believe you.”

“Huh?!”

“That story. Of the man who fell from the sky. I am looking for him.”

“Wait, ya don’t think I’m crazy?”

Shiva shook his head. “Where did this man fall. How can I get there?”

“Oh, sir, you won’t be able to get there for _months_. Whole place freezes over and gets swallowed by blizzards until the spring festival- no one gets up there this time of yea-”

Shiva’s hand had crushed his wooden tankard with a jarring snap, barley spirits now dripping down his hands in a sticky foam. “How can I get there.”

The merchant swallowed thickly, scrambling for a piece of paper. ‘I’ll draw ya a map , sir!”

“Thank you very much.”


	8. Reconciliation...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconciliation typically didn't go like.... _this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter update than usual, I just wanted to toss this up ASAP.

The storms just got worse after the festival.

But despite the vengeful winds and the temperatures so cold it could freeze the skin off your nose in a moment, everyone acted like it was all fine. 

The children no longer played outside in the snow, but when there was a break in the winds it was as though the entire village breathed an unspoken sigh of relief, trudging into the snow banks to revel in the clean air. 

Many days and nights were spent in the comfort of Elta’s cabin, despite Grimnir having a house of his own now. It was a tremendously strange concept: having a place for him to call home. 

Agnar kept returning to him when the snow grew light, demanding to stay and hear Grimnir’s stories. The mere boy of 13 was nearly at the threshold of adulthood, at least according to custom.

Yet he was reluctant to mature, finding much more joy in hearing the grand (and slightly embellished) stories that spilled from Grimnir’s mind like water.

Some stories remained hushed: the entire foray with Shiva was to remain in the back of his mind forever, Possibly until he died.

If such a thing was even possible.

Grimnir was sure he would soon run out of stories to tell the boy, and that his memory was running dry.

Until Agnar came rushing to the door with something very different on his mind.

“There is a traveler who wants to see you.”

***

The blizzards were more of an annoyance than anything serious.

His natural temperature made the mountains of snow melt upon contact, his snowshoes reaking of heated wood.

The compass he had bought trembled in his hand, the ice that had once covered the dial sizzling away.

He should only be a few meters out from the town, the remnants of loose fences hinting towards fields that lay dead for the winter. 

Eyes shined in the light of his lantern.

A boy in thick clothes stood at the top of a ridge, looking down at him.

“I am searching for the man with the hair and skin of snow, on eye of grass and the other of fles-“

The child was gone before he could finish.

A thick cloud of steam poured from his lips and he continued his hike. Vasuki was curled in a satchel at his breast, and he hoped his dear friend was lasting the cold- he could not guarantee his body heat would be enough.

Large halls of stained wood stood out in the snow, fanning out in a large circle like the posts of a wheel. 

There was no reason to not knock and attempt to ask the locals of Grimnir’s whereabouts, someone there must know of him.

His fist rang out against the wood much more aggressively than he would have liked. 

Latches creaked and clacked and a milky eye, bordered with crows feet and fine wrinkles, peered out at him. “Who are you.”

“A traveler.”

“We don’t get travelers out here during this season.”

“I am looking for the man with hair and skin like the snow, one eye like grass, the other flesh. Some say he fell from the sky.”

The eye vanished from the small door, and there was scuffling, mumbling.

“You May enter.”

The door creaked open, and he slipped in as soon as he could, the door quickly closing behind him.

Eyes watched him from tiered beds, from tables, from beside the fire. Multiple families must live inside these large establishments…

“There is a man who fell from the sky, but he only has one eye.” An old woman said. She must have been the one to open the door for him. Wrinkled Lined her face and worn down horns curled from her head. He didn’t know Draphs lived up here. 

“Where is he.”

Another voice spoke up. “Why must you know?”

Shiva turned- the boy from earlier was behind him, quickly closing the door. Snow still cling to his boots and fur jacket.

There was no doubt he went to tell Grimnir of Shiva's presence.

“Agnar!”

“I am sorry Grandmother, but how can we know if we can trust him?”

The boy was quickly pulled away by his grandmother, and she quickly started to speak to him in a thick, guttural tongue- more akin to the bellowing of an elk than to the common tongue spoken by the Skydom as a whole.

The door clattered open once again, the wind whistling between the great slats of wood.

It was Grimnir. Hair covered in fallen snow, chest heaving,breath curling from his chapped lips.

Then, as the longhouse collectively held their breath, Grimnir spoke. “I’ll take care of him.”

***

Wind pounded against the sides of the dark house.

Hati and Skoll were curled up by the fire, thick fur drinking in the dying breaths of the flame.

Soon, they may sleepily trot over to Grimnir, curl up around his feet, leech off of the fire raging inside of his blood.

“You have no right to be here.”

“I would argue the opposite.”

“Why. Why do you want to bother me.”

“I wanted to know you were safe, take you back home with me-”

“I DON’T _WANT_ TO GO BACK!”

Shiva shut up.

“I DON’T _WANT_ TO BE LOCKED AWAY IN SOME CORNER OF THE _FUCKING_ SKY!”

Grimnir’s crass and harsh language astonished him, but he had no right to speak.

“YOU _DARE_ RETURN TO ME AND REQUEST FOR ME TO RETREAT TO THAT PRISION!? TO BANISH MYSELF IN SUCH A WAY?!”

“Did you not cast yourself down here!? Did you not willingly banish yourself from the skies?!”

“NO! A banished man is isolated, _SHUNNED, by all those who hear of him!_ The only people who shunned me _WERE THE BEINGS OF MY OWN KIN!”_

That wounded him. That was perhaps the most painful blow he had ever endured in his long, war-torn life.

“THE ONLY THING THAT SET US ALL APART WAS _SUFFERING_ SHIVA! TRUE SUFFERING! THESE HUMANS LIVE IN FEAR OF DEATH FOR THEIR ENTIRE LIVES DAMN IT!”

Shiva had no right to speak. He deserved this. This was how he would repent for his sins against his beloved- by enduring the righteous barrage of his words.

“YOU COME TO ME IN AN ATTEMPT TO PACIFY ME OF MY RIGHTFUL FURY AND I WILL _NOT_ YIELD TO IT.”

Grimnir was trembling, try to restrain both anger and the flooding, romantic urge to jump out and embrace Shiva where he stood.

He couldn’t let himself do that. He needed to stay strong, he needed to not succumb to his instincts, the weakness that love bestowed upon him.

“Get out. Get out of my house.”

Shiva stared at him blankly. “No.”

Grimnir was trembling with rage and anguish, ready to shove him out the door. “Go back to your _fucking_ palace in the clouds and leave me to rot down here. I do not belong up there- we both know that.”

“No.”

“WHY NOT?!”

“I won’t let you go alone.”

Grimnir felt his heart pulse and he wanted to break down right then and there- rush into Shiva’s arms and beg for what they once had together- the fragile line between real affection and starved devotion having been shattered during that time.

The fire was dead, nothing more than sparks and embers in the pile of ash. 

“...You can sleep on the floor.”

Shiva didn’t say anything, simply watching as Grimnir changed and climbed into bed. Extinguishing the candle between his fingers, he turned over, eyes boring into the wall as he tried to fight away the tears but allow sleep to wash over him.


	9. Like Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is.... The last chapter............. I hope you all like it!

Shiva was there when he awoke, meditating on the packed dirt floor. Hati and Skoll were curled up by the long dead fire, a familiar line of scales standing out between their fur.

Crawling out of bed, he quickly changed, attempting to ignore the man. He had no food up here, having spent most of his time in Elta’s home.

Grabbing his satchel, he headed towards the door.

An arm lashed out, grabbing his leg.

“I can’t just let you run away from me.”

He couldn’t see Shiva’s face. But his voice betrayed an emotion he didn’t want to stew on, lest it make him feel as lost and lonely and abandoned as Shiva’s voice.

“Then get up. We’re going to a friend’s house.”

***

Elta opened the door with a smile, like he usually did, but his face soon receded to something more neutral.

“I-I”

“Come in you two.”

Grimnir forgot they were technically a unit now. A pair. 

Scuffing his feet on the mat, he entered, the goats staying outside as Shiva followed behind him. 

“I assume you’re another primal?” Elta asked, moving towards the fire, stirring a pot of something.

“Yes.”

Elta muttered something about how he had to deal with far too many primals, but Shiva seemed to be unaware of this, scanning the home, taking in every detail.

“This is Shiva, Primal of Fire.”

Elta sighed. “Of course he’s of your power…”

“I apologize, I know you’ve dealt with far too many Elta.”

Shiva was now paying attention, a look of recognition on his face. “You must be Caro’s lover.”

Fear and something resembling fury shot through Elta’s face. “Yes.”

Shiva was about to ask another question, but Grimnir cut him off.

“How are the others? Fine, I’m assuming.”

“Europa was against my departure, Alexiel seemed neutral, keeping her in check. I have yet to see or hear from Freyr.” 

A cold shiver shot through him. Of course Freyr had vanished.

“Rumor has it he’s currently on the island of beasts for some reason. Gullinbursti was likely attracted by the stench.”

He nodded. There was no reason to reply further.

“The festival will be continuing for another week- the children have grown attached to you Grimnir, it would be foolish to leave during this time.” Elta said, pouring bowls of likely very bland porridge.

“I don’t plan to leave until spring. I don’t want to travel through the horrid weather.” He said. Shiva nodded in return. Grimnir was surprised by that, expecting him to be more interested in leaving as soon as possible. Shiva was a trustworthy man, but Grimnir didn’t know if he was willing to take that risk quite yet.

A large jar was placed on the table, Elta struggling to unscrew the sealed lid.

“What are those?”

“Dried fruits-“

Shiva offered to take the jar, Elta finally relenting. The tight top easily opened under Shiva’s grip. (Although Grimnir did note his lower arms twitch, almost moving out from under his cloak to assist.)

“You don’t need to treat us like royals, honestly…”

Elta scoffed. “You’re tough, I know that, but a fire primal is, well…”

_A whole nother matter entirely._

Naturally Shiva was far superior to Grimnir- it was simply the nature of things!

“Besides, its festival season, the sweets would have been opened eventually.”

Grimnir suspected that was partially a lie- but he didn’t wish to call Elta’s bluff and embarrass him. Or worse, cause Shiva to take some form of offense.

Shiva seemed much more curious than anything- while his expressions were hard to read, the slight raise in his eyebrows, the tiniest tug at his lips- indicated he was childishly excited about experiencing humans.

“Any theme for this night? More babysitting?”

Elta laughed dryly, coughing into his arm before bringing the food to the table. “No, not tonight I’m afraid. Today is mostly remembrance ceremonies- tomorrow is an evening of silent prayer. Then after that is a thanksgiving feast.”

“Ah, we shall stay in my lodgings then.”

Elta didn’t say anything about that plan, pouring some dried fruits into the grain slop. Grimnir wanted to decline, but Shiva would absolutely raise questions about him declining sweets.

Shiva was extremely eager to listen to Grimnir and Elta converse, and Grimnir took notice of how often his gaze would settle on him, how his eyes roamed his body as he ate and talked. Like he was merely a specter, a dream that would slip away in an instant.

***

For once, in a very long time, the house was warm.

Elta sent them off with some food, noting that Grimnir was incapable of foraging for himself. 

Shiva had lit a fire, spruced up the place. His clothes and cloaks joined Grimnir’s by the door, and his four arms were put to work for a brief period, before he decided to spark up a conversation.

“...Do you wish to travel?”

Grimnir looked up. “I do.”

“I have aligned myself with an extremely competent crew, if you would like to travel with them.”

“I’ll think on it. We will leave when the snow lifts.”

“And when will that happen?”

“A month from now, according to the records.”

Shiva pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. His hands were itching to run through Grimnir’s fine hair, run along his soft skin. He missed the feeling of Grimnir in his arms greatly- and that longing only grew the more he was tempted. Living with Grimnir yet being unable to touch him drove a thorn into Shiva, but he couldn’t do anything about it, lest he encourage Grimnir to banish him.

His hand hovered behind Grimnir, as he remained uncertain of his allowance of physical contact.

Carefully, he rested his hand on his back, looking over at the book Grimnir was engrossed in.

A weight leaned against him, and he could feel his heart swell.

“...missed you.”

“Hm?”

“I missed you.”

Shiva wanted to gather Grimnir in his arms and carry him to the bed and drown him in affection, but he knew that would only serve to spook him.

“...You don’t need to hold back…”

Surprised, Shiva glanced over at Grimnir, holding the book to his face in an attempt to cover his vibrant blush.

“What do you-“

He was cut off by Grimnir turning abruptly and slamming their lips together. 

Shiva missed this immensely. There was nothing in the world he would be able to yearn so deeply for- Grimnir was the world to him, and he simply couldn’t help but make that fact clear.

Grimnir pulled away after a moment, trembling in something that maybe resembled fear. His eyes were watery and the color of his face matched that of his eyes. 

Breathless, Shiva pulled him closer. “...I love you.”

Stuttering, Grimnir attempted to respond, but he couldn’t quite find the words, hands clutching to the wool of Shiva’s shirt.

They sat in a comfortable silence, Grimnir sprawled in Shiva’s lap, arms and legs tangled into a massive knot neither of them seemed intent on unwinding.

The fire crackled in its brick home, the goats napping on the floor by the door, Vasuki curled up on the rug before the flames and embers.

Grimnir would no longer need to light the fires alone, or try and make them last the night.

He would have Shiva to help him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry If this seems like a cop out... I may or may not continue, I ran into a serious wall while writing it....
> 
> Anyway, please comment, kudo, whatever you want to do!
> 
> I have a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ConfuzzledSheep?lang=en) where you can yell at me if you want!!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment, kudo... whatever you all want to do! 
> 
> Any strong opinions can be sent right on over to my [TWITTER!!!](https://twitter.com/ConfuzzledSheep?lang=en)
> 
> Anyway, see ya next chapter! Thanks for reading!


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